


Cotton Caskets and Woven Hands

by jattendrai



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bathing/Washing, No Angst, Old Married Couple, Other, Tenderness, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21510460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jattendrai/pseuds/jattendrai
Summary: Seam never asked much of Jevil’s life, why he had no friends or lived alone, or never talked about family or a job. Somehow, he just existed, and within that he let Seam into that realm of just existing, and Seam quite liked it.
Relationships: Jevil & Seam (Deltarune)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Cotton Caskets and Woven Hands

**Author's Note:**

> this is connected to my greater human fic Boys & Girls so if it reads cringey and overly sentimental it's because it is, but you should still read that too because it's good and i'm doing good things with that.
> 
> Anyway disability fics about memory loss written purely to be sad and angsty can suck the skin off my dick because y'know what disabled and ill people actually want? to not be used as tropes or means for sob stories, so that's what me and my sick genes come in.

Sometimes it is looking at the reflection, or the unmade doctors visits, or the subtle lack of strength that reminds Seam that yes, there was a reason for never falling in love.

The water was always scalding, and Jevil’s arm were very short and so he needed to hang over the tub ledge to work the knobs. Seam, without any energy to do anything or help in any regards, would sit on the closed toilet with eyes closed, seemingly falling asleep. Seam had gotten a little bit better about it within the thirty years, from how Seam was after the stroke; originally defiant to even move, it took Jevil a whole lot of pulling and pushing to peel Seam off the couch and into the bathroom.

But Seam was a bit more cynical back then, and now it was just about energy. Not enough, never enough anymore. Didn’t know where it went, what it was used for.

Memory was not good for Seam, after it all.

Once the water was filled to a suitable point Jevil stopped the water, he would slap his hands dry and move to help Seam undressed.

It was quite a nice bathroom, with how small and dilapidated it was, Seam thought; the tiny window six feet above the tub that could never close let in a nice flow of the evening light, alongside the various old style mirrors hanging around from when Jevil picked them off streetsides. The yellowed, chipping tiles beneath Seam’s feet always had a nice cooling feeling, focusing on the sensation while Jevil stood on the toilet seat to help unhook Seam’s dress from behind. The height contrast between them was almost comical at times, with Seam quite literally doubling in Jevil’s height.

But it isn’t so bad, thinking about it. Seam quite liked how small Jevil was, it complimented his personality and made him very easy to hold, like a cat curled up against you in bed.

Jevil was a very unique man: very short and wide set on the count of the growth deficiency he rarely talks about, hiding himself behind masks of animals and creatures and demons especially; ridiculous clothing, of striped leggings and cloaks and frill-necks, looking very much like a cross between a jinn and a leprechaun; a cackle of a laugh that could fill a room, and small, mouse-like hands that were good at threading needles and picking at skin. 

Seam would not describe what was under the mask, as that was private matters, but sometimes Jevil would show his teeth; yellowed, square, crooked and gapped. He smiled like he knew a secret that would be detrimental if it got out, and he smiled often. Seam could tell when he smiled from behind the masks, because his cheeks would push them up a bit.

He also had his hair out constantly, curly and short and hidden under ridiculous jester hats and behind horns and antlers he would carve onto the crown of his masks. And all of that was just touching up on appearance! Nothing about how he never sits in chairs, but much prefers the tops of tables and desks and bars, on the head and arm rests of couches and chairs instead of anywhere regularly.

And how constantly he would be found enamored by some new project, from needle felt to carving masks to making overly-floral soaps; nothing was out of his reach, from salvaging curtains and turning them into shirts, or teaching himself to play instruments incorrectly ( a violin was his most proficient one, of which he plucked with his hands as the bowstring was snapped after overuse against the chords of a guitar, like how one plays the cello).

Yes, Jevil was a bit of a strange man, but strange was not bad to Seam: Seam liked the sound of the violin from the living room to the bedroom, reverberating against the walls and through the metal air ducts; Seam liked the smell of burning wood and stripper and gloss as Jevil worked on a particular mask on the coffee table, sitting criss-cross and throwing the wooden peels into the fire stove; Seam liked how Jevil had five different toothbrushes, and would unlace his shoes entirely and swap laces around constantly.

In simplest terms, if there were reasons to never fall in love, Jevil would embody every reason opposing that, every action and gesture that showed that there was a reason to fall in love.

The water was nice, as Seam was helped into the tub. It smelled like children’s bath soap as Jevil had generously poured plenty of cheap green apple bubble bath into it, and the warmth soothed every ache in every joint and dissolved Seam’s body so there was nothing there. Slipping in deeper, Seam managed to read the water up the neck, and forget about ever having a corporal form. One could easily fall asleep here, as Seam often wishes to do, if not for Jevil moving to sit at the edge of the tub and work at Seam’s hair.

The care came as a surprise, before the two had even started anything formally called a relationship --- he was the first person to ever look after and care for Seam for no reason, seemingly out of the blue gesture, right after Seam exhibited the first stroke of a small stretch of them.

Seam forgets the details, the mind fading and losing itself, but Jevil remembers for his partner what can not be remembered alone; Seam was thirty, working as a croupier for a hack boss who had fired the co-owners just a few months before. It was also just a few months after they met, Jevil having his own way of flirting by attempting to rig the hand in Blackjack.

Seam remembers a little bit of this, remembering that they had gotten together a few times between when they met and the stroke. Jevil would laugh, running his hands through his partner’s hair to make sure the shampoo gets through every thick curl and strand, and ask if Seam could remember the number. Seam would guess twice, Jevil would say five.

After the stroke, which removed the sight in one of Seam’s eye and gave a permanent limp, and would complicate Seam’s health later and forever, everything smeared together from the hospital to suddenly laying on Jevil’s beaten up couch and watching him move out of the corner of Seam’s vision, a prominent figure in the weeks of unwavering pessimism and never getting up.

Jevil had cared for, fed, washed, and looked after Seam since then, and though Seam has regained some energy and zest for life, it never really stopped, because it never really had to. Jevil had admitted with a cackle that he quite enjoyed finally having a companion, someone else to exist with and who was tangible and real in an otherwise chaotic and lonely world. Seam never asked much of Jevil’s life, why he had no friends or lived alone, or never talked about family or a job. Somehow, he just existed, and within that he let Seam into that realm of just existing, and Seam quite liked it.

And now they were here, in the future, Jevil helping wash his partner as Seam nearly falls asleep drifting through memories. It was just nice, to be cared for, to feel your partner’s hands on your neck, shoulders, through your hair and down the back. Like the warmth of the water, Jevil’s touch was just as good as relaxing every muscle in Seam, ironically compared to his frantic, chaotic energy and movements most of the time.

They don’t even talk, during most of it, just listen to the wind chimes outside the small window. Eventually the water runs cold, the bubbles gone flat, every inch having been cared for as best as he could. After helping Seam out, Jevil leaves to grab a fresh set of clothes, and while waiting Seam is able to stare in the reflection at the body that looked back.

Over the wrinkles of the face and against the eye that was lopsided, Seam drug one hand to feel the features of the body that felt both vacant yet like home. Knowing that this was what Jevil saw, Seam wondered if this body could ever become familiar, or if Seam was simply doomed to inhabit it like it was borrowed.

Jevil hopped back into the bathroom with a fresh pair of clothes, warm from how they were placed in the dryer beforehand. He helped dry his partner’s hair before getting dressed, brushing his teeth and remind Seam about the various medications need to be taken. Seam felt that labeling things for memory was a bit demeaning feeling, so Jevil instead sorted things on the left and right side of the cabinet --- everything on the right was Jevil’s, as he would stand there on a stool, so everything on the left must be Seam’s, including the various medications, expensive perfumes, and cheap toothbrushes sitting in a Clifford cup.

After they had finished in the bathroom, with Jevil waiting to make sure Seam had done everything needed ( brushed hair, washed teeth, clean ears, and so on), they would flick out the lights and head downstairs; for some reason, when Jevil had moved into this house in the woods, he had made the basement the bedroom, and the actual bedroom the living room.

It was a pair of rickety wooden stairs, of which Jevil would hold Seam’s hand to help down on, leading in to a dark, wooden basement filled with lamps and drapes and various small knick knacks Seam had begun collection ( it was one of Seam’s only interests, going to thrift stores and salvaging ceramic angels and ugly paintings and kitschy decorations, bringing them home to the amusement and excitement of Jevil): their walls were decorated in salvaged scarfs and hanging shelves full of fake flowers, mother marys and fish-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers; the ceiling hanging beaded strings, star lights, strange wind chimes and cotton webs. It was dark, dimly lit, and it felt more and more like home.

While Jevil wore neon yellow slippers around the house ( a birthday gift from your’s truly), Seam preferred to go barefoot, feeling the textures of all the salvaged rugs patted around the cement floor. They guided him to the bed, which was soft and massive and with layers of comforters and knitted blankets. Laying down on it relieved the pain in Seam’s back from standing up, and Seam sunk into it with a rather ridiculous wheeze, Jevil climbing in to gazer over his partner with a silly look on his face --- behind that even sillier mask, that is.

Seam reached to remove the mask, revealing a secret that will always just be theirs’. Jevil grinned and layed a peck on Seam’s forehead, while moving to lay the mask on a nightstand.

There was no need for talk, as they settled in to bed. They were quite comfortable in each other’s silence, as long as Seam was able to lay in supine while Jevil crawled over his partner, resting like an animal curled on your lap. That ridiculous night cap he wore was sometimes brought into question, but there was no reason to question what he does because it doesn’t matter; Seam likes it, it’s endearing and makes him look like a muppet.

Some nights, it was easy to fall asleep --- but other nights, stress plagued Seam, and it was harder. Remembering that with each day Seam wakes up, there will be less memories than the night before, that with every passing hour something decays. Seam would think about the future, the short one ready to die off like a match, the inevitable one. Even at such an age, the future could still feel scary.

But the stress would cease, feeling the warmth of Jevil against Seam’s body, how small and funny his hands were to hold, how he would constantly deny snoring despite the low rumbling every time he inhaled.

Nothing was very long lasting in Seam’s head, the memories decaying but the fear decaying too, and ultimately, there was nothing to worry about --- because Seam was dressed, and bathed, fed, and given love and able to give love in Seam’s own way, from bringing home ceramic clowns that look like Jevil to helping rip cotton out of sofas to stuff one of Jevil’s projects with. Was it silly? Yes, and Seam was sure that if Jevil didn't exist, Seam would not have a life like this, but hypotheticals are silly. Everything is real as it is now, and even if it is forgotten, it is within the moment that matters.

And holding Jevil, and feeling his obnoxious snoring, was just enough to put Seam to rest for the night.


End file.
